by Cindy Miles
I turn and look behind me, into the rectory. The ivy vines are back as they were, tightly woven and clinging to the beamless rafters. My heart is pounding, and I’m really starting to think I’ve lost my mind. The gardener’s voice had been too old and deep to be the voice I’d heard moments before.
So who is speaking to me? I wonder as I hurry back toward the castle. And why?
Maybe I should leave. But where would I go?
There has to be a logical explanation. For a half second I even consider e-mailing Callie about it, but she’d just freak out and insist I keep the webcam on all day, pointed at my room to catch any movement of any sort. She’s a total Ghost Hunters fan. I’d never hear the end of it.
Besides, there’s no such thing as ghosts.
Right?
Though I’m on tenterhooks all weekend, there are no more strange voices or noises, and by Sunday night, I’m able to sleep fairly well in my new room. Before I know it, it’s Monday morning: my first day of school here in Scotland. I’m not nervous, really — just a little self-conscious.
I stand in front of the mirror in my room, inspecting myself in my new uniform. It consists of a white long-sleeved blouse, a black pullover sweater, a black-and-gray plaid skirt, black tights, and black shoes. Not my style at all.
Mom peeks her head in. “Good morning, sweetie,” she says. “Almost ready for breakfast? Oh,” she cries when she steps all the way in, “look at you!” She claps. “Are you Gryffindor or Slytherin?”
I sigh. “Slytherin for sure.”
Mom laughs. “You look very … Scottish, Ivy. And adorable.”
I frown at her in the mirror.
Mom crosses the room and pulls me into a hug. “Everything will be okay, sweetie. They’ll all love you.” She kisses my temple and glances at me in the mirror. “How can they not?”
I smile and pat Mom’s arm. “It’s okay, Mom. I can handle it if they don’t all love me like you do.”
She grins. “Just be yourself and you’ll be fine.”
If only it were that easy.
Niall and Mom drive me to school. I didn’t want to have to ride a bus filled with strangers, so I’m glad. Glenmorrag High School is average size, brick, and all one story. It has a huge soccer field — “a football pitch,” Niall calls it — that sits off to the side. As Niall comes to a stop in front of the school, I take in the sea of uniformed kids. The boys wear white shirts with black ties and black sweater-vests, and the girls are in outfits like mine, though some wear pants. Mom was right; I feel like I’ve arrived at Hogwarts. Too bad this school won’t be nearly as fun.
I say good-bye to Mom and Niall and get out of the car. Then I take a deep breath and sling my backpack onto my shoulder, bumping into a girl with long fiery-red curls.
“Och, watch it,” she says with a heavy Highland accent. “You nearly took me bloody head off with that thing.”
Embarrassed, I give a hesitant smile. “Sorry ’bout that.”
Her eyes widen. “Och, an American,” she says, and inclines her head. I’ve come to realize och is a standard Scottish exclamation meaning something similar to oh. She smiles. “I’m Emma.”
“Ivy,” I reply. “I’m new.”
“Well, Ivy, come on, then. I’ll show you to the front office so Headmistress Worley can give you your schedule.”
I follow Emma inside, careful not to hurt anyone else with my backpack.
“Where do you live anyway?” Emma asks me as we come to a stop in front of an office door.
“Um …” I hesitate a little. “Glenmorrag Castle.”
“No way.” Emma’s eyes again widen. “I’ve heard that —”
“Okay, Emma, you two might want to hurry along now.” A boy our age appears at our side. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair, silvery eyes, and very white skin. He glances at his watch and raises a dark brow. “Ye dunna want to be late, aye?” He smiles at me, then a little longer at Emma, then walks off to speak to another group of kids.
“Serrus Munro,” Emma says, looking after him. Her tongue spins all the r’s in his name. “One of the prefects. He’s nay too bad.”
I watch the group of younger kids disperse the moment Serrus walks up.
“I think I read about prefects in Harry Potter,” I admit, feeling childish.
Emma grins. “Oh, yeah. Well, they’re kind of like … patrolmen. Serrus is our age, a Sixth Year, and he sort of helps keep the younger ones in hand. But he’s right.” She glances at her watch. “Better go to class. You can go in and see the headmistress. See ya ’round, aye?”
I nod, grateful and relieved. I don’t want to get my hopes up, but Emma seems like she could be a friend.
This gives me the confidence to enter the headmistress’s office. Ms. Worley is a welcoming middle-aged woman with dark brown hair and green eyes. While I sit in a chair across from her desk, she prints out my schedule and hands me a small map of the school hallways.
“So tell me about yourself, Ivy,” she says as she walks me to my first class. She knows all the basics about me — where I’m from, where I’m living now — because Niall enrolled me in the school. “Do you play sports? Music?”
I glance at her. “I play the violin.”
She stops and looks at me. “Is that so?”
Smiling, I nod. “Yes, ma’am. Since I was three.”
Her eyes light up. “That is marvelous! We have extracurricular music on Thursdays in the afternoon. There’s also a grand music festival sponsored by the Strings of the Highlands in the spring. Only the elite are chosen to play, and there’s actually a contest for young violinists. Sir Malcolm Catesby will be judging, and the winner will be given a private lesson with him. ’Twould be a great opportunity for anyone looking to advance their music.”
Excitement vibrates through me at the thought of playing at the festival, especially in front of Malcolm Catesby — a super-famous violinist.
“Thank you, ma’am,” I say. “I look forward to finding out more.”
And I mean it. Back home there weren’t as many opportunities like this. In fact, my violin teacher in Charleston usually chided me for playing music that was too unconventional, too weird. I wonder if here, people might be more open to something a little strange.
My first class is biology, and the teacher, Mr. MacPherson, is pretty cool. But I have to concentrate hard on his accent to catch everything he says about the parts of a cell.
Emma seems to have appointed herself as my personal tour guide, and finds me in the hallway after class. “Lubly jubly,” she says, glancing at my schedule. “We share the next three classes. Come on, then. Off to World History we go.” We move into the class and find seats next to each other near the center of the room. “Time to manage the Aztecs.”
I don’t even mind sitting in class and taking notes — it feels ordinary. Familiar. Like I could almost be back in my old school back home, far from the spooky castle and its eerie voices.
I’m glad to have Emma close by when lunch rolls around. “Let’s go grab a sandwich and sit in the Common Room,” she suggests. I follow her lead as we make our way to a small, self-serve café. Back in Charleston, Callie and I would be waiting in the long lunch line for mushy mac and cheese. Here, Emma takes a mug of hot tea, an egg-salad sandwich, and a bag of chips. I grab the same, along with some shortbread that looks almost as good as what Jonas brought me the other night. Then we head to the Sixth Years’ Common Room and sit at a small table.
“So, Glenmorrag Castle,” Emma says, tossing her long red curls over one shoulder. She stirs sugar into her tea. “Your mum married a MacAllister, aye? The laird?”
“Yeah,” I answer. I bite into the soft sandwich, which is actually pretty good. “His name is Niall, and he’s … okay. I’ve only been here three days.” I don’t tell her about the spooky goings-on of the weekend. Instead, I tell her about life back in Charleston, and my violin playing. Emma tells me that she has a tin ear when it comes to playing music, but sh
e’s also into retro ’80s stuff. She’s lived in Glenmorrag all her life, and she’s an only child, too. I already feel at ease with her.
I’m just thinking about how nice and normal our conversation is compared to my life the past few days when Emma casually asks, “So, seen anything weird at the castle?”
I pause midbite. “Um … why do you ask?”
“What’s weird besides you, Emma?” a stocky boy asks as he approaches the table. He’s joined by a girl who looks like a shorter version of him, with the same wavy brown hair and brown eyes.
Emma rolls her eyes. “Right, you’re full of chuckles today, eh, Big D? Ivy, this is Cameron and Derek MacLeod,” Emma announces. “They shared a womb.”
Fraternal twins. Derek, the boy, flicks Emma on the ear, then smiles at me. “You’re the only Yank in the school,” he says. “Nice to meet ya.”
“You must be Laird MacAllister’s stepdaughter,” Cameron, the girl, says. “I hear that place is wicked spooky.”
“We were just getting to that, isn’t that right, Ivy?” Emma urges. “So come on. Anything?”
I squirm, not wanting to sound insane. I can’t tell them about the moving vines or my dancing violin. Or that voice. “The castle’s … dark,” I answer. “Not too bad, though.”
Now that’s an outright lie. I glance at all of them. “Why? What’ve you heard?”
Emma leans forward, lowering her voice. “My great-auntie, who died many years ago, worked as a maid there once. She swore that rooms turned icy cold, and that things wouldna be where she left them last.”
“As in things moved around?” Cameron asks.
“Aye,” Emma confirms. “She said her cleaning supplies, which she kept in one specific closet, would disappear and turn up in a strange place, like an upstairs bathtub. She could have sworn there was a dark spirit at work. She also says a young man was murdered there, countless years ago. ’Tis his ghost who haunts, I bet.”
I find myself trembling but I try not to let my fear show. I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. “I hadn’t heard anything about that.”
Emma regards me. “Never know, Ivy. Keep your eyes peeled.”
“So have you seen anything?” Cameron asks.
“I have heard some things,” I answer hesitantly. I’m careful about what I say. I don’t want to come off as freakish my first day at school. “Could be the wind, though. It whips through that old castle like something out of a horror movie.”
“It’s rare that the wind isna roaring in the Highlands,” Derek says with a grin. “It can play tricks on ya, though. Dunna let your imagination run wild.”
“True,” his sister chimes in. She gives me the exact same smile as her brother. “But the Highlands are full o’ magic, too. No telling what’s going on for real.”
“Aye,” Emma says, but she’s looking at me more seriously than the other two. “No telling at all.”
The bell rings, and the twins gather their stuff. They wave to us and head off. As Emma and I gather our book bags, she looks me pointedly in the eye.
“You can tell me,” she whispers. “What’s really happening in the castle?”
My heart skips a beat. I’m surprised by her insight. “I didn’t want to make a big deal in front of everyone,” I explain.
“You can trust me,” Emma offers. “Swear.”
I look at her for several seconds. I have no one else to confide in. No one my own age. I like Emma already. There’s a blatant honesty about her that I relate to.
“Okay,” I whisper as we walk out of the Common Room. “I know it sounds nuts, but there’s this … voice. Someone keeps telling me to leave the castle. And,” I go on, “there’s a heavy, I don’t know, presence in the air. It’s not always there, just sometimes.”
“Like what?” Emma asks. Her face is drawn in concern. No mockery at all.
I think. “It feels like someone is watching me. Also, my new step-grandmother isn’t the sweetest of old ladies,” I add. “I mean, she is in her nineties, but boy, she really doesn’t like me.”
“Do you think it’s her?” Emma asks. “Maybe hissing those things, telling you to leave?” Kids file past us, hurrying to classrooms.
I shake my head. “I’m not sure. It sounds like a guy’s voice.” I stop and look at Emma. “And …” I really hesitate to tell her this.
“Go on,” she urges.
“I swear I saw my violin and bow hovering in midair, playing on their own.”
I expect Emma to laugh at me but she only nods. “Doesna surprise me one bit. Not after what my auntie told me.” She inclines her head. “Doing anything this weekend?” she asks. “We could hang out. Maybe at your place? We could investigate the situation.”
A sigh of relief escapes me. “So you don’t think I’m crazy?”
“Och,” Emma says, heading into our math class. “Of course I think you’re crazy.” She grins. “But so am I. We’ll check it out together. Two is better than one, aye?”
“Definitely,” I say.
By the end of the day, Emma and I have exchanged cell numbers and she’s urged me to text her if anything else weird happens at the castle. I officially have a friend here. I’m in such a good mood that it takes me a second to notice that it’s just Niall picking me up in the car.
“Where’s Mom?” I ask, buckling my seat belt.
“She doesna feel so well this afternoon,” he answers. “How was school?”
I tell Niall the truth: The first day was better than expected, and Emma, Cam, and Derek seem very nice. Niall looks pleased, and for the first time, things don’t seem so awkward between us. Still, the rest of the drive passes without much conversation.
When I get back inside the castle, Mom is sitting on the sofa beside the hearth, covered in a blanket and reading a book.
“You okay?” I ask her, a little worried. Mom rarely gets sick.
She smiles up at me. “Sure, baby, just felt a little off is all. Probably jet lag.” She asks me about school, and I fill her in on Emma and the twins, and my classes. This good news seems to perk her up, and when Niall comes into the room, she rises off the couch, telling him she’s feeling much better and can accompany him. Apparently, Niall has some land he’s interested in up the coast so they’re going to check it out. Such is the life of a laird, I guess.
Mom says they will be back before supper and kisses me good-bye. I sling my backpack over my shoulder and head for the kitchen. I’m hoping to say hi to Jonas and maybe get an afternoon snack before settling into my homework upstairs.
But in the shadow of the staircase, I run smack into Elizabeth.
She’s watching me. Wordless. Cold eyes. That white-gray bun. I swear she must use a wrench to tighten it.
“Hey,” I say, trying to break the ice just a little.
“Good afternoon,” she says crisply, correcting me. “You’re a MacAllister now, young lady. Behave as one.”
I’ve had about enough. I’ve not done one thing to this woman, and she hates me. Hates me! I look at her as I walk by her. “I’m not a MacAllister.”
“Well, then,” Elizabeth says behind me. “If you feel that way, you might be better off locked in the tower.”
What?
I stop in my tracks and slowly turn to look at her. Her thin lips rise in a sinister smile. “Aye?”
I turn and hurry away. Not answering, not entertaining her. I don’t hear her heels clicking on the floor behind me, so I figure she isn’t following. Good. I’ve had enough of her threats.
The kitchen is empty. “Jonas?” I call. I’m dying to vent to him about my latest encounter with the evil Elizabeth. I set my backpack on the table and head to his room off the kitchen, and lightly knock. No answer.
“Guess he must be out getting groceries or something,” I say out loud to no one. I begin to search the cabinets for some crackers, and that’s when I notice the big walk-in freezer door is ajar. Thinking Jonas may be inside, I walk to it and open the door wider.
Suddenly, I’m shoved hard from behind and I fall to the floor of the freezer. The door slams behind me and the lock clicks. My mind whirls. What just happened? I turn and stare blankly at the freezer door. Luckily, there’s still a light on in here.
“Hey!” I holler. “Hello? Let me out!”
No one answers. The door remains shut. My heart starts to race.
I try the handle, but it won’t budge. The freezer locks from the outside only.
Banging on the door, I yell louder. “Jonas! Elizabeth! I’m in the freezer and I can’t get out!” I bang on the door again and again. “Help!”
No one comes. And my cell phone is in my backpack. On the table.
Panic seizes me. Who pushed me? I didn’t trip — something shoved me. Yet I didn’t hear anyone come up behind me. Could it have been Elizabeth? She wanted to lock me in the tower. But I was alone in the kitchen.
Cold sinks in through my school sweater and grips my bones. My lips start to feel numb and I’m shivering. I back into the corner and sit on a big box of lard and wrap my arms around myself. I start cataloging the contents of the freezer, just to keep my mind busy. Three boxes of king crab legs, five boxes of Angus steaks, seventeen bags of chicken breasts … my eyes begin to drift shut. I’m so cold, inside and out….
“Miss Ivy! Oh, dear, child, wake up!”
Hands shake my shoulders. I blink and open my eyes. My vision is blurry at first, and it slowly focuses. Jonas is standing over me, worry lines creasing his face. The freezer door is wide open now. I feel a rush of relief.
Over Jonas’s shoulder, in the kitchen, I see a movement. There’s someone else there. A boy. A boy about my age. Dark, thick wavy hair and a loose white old-fashioned-looking shirt. Our eyes meet, and all I can think is “Wow, he is really cute.” But he’s frowning fiercely at me. I blink and he’s gone.
Or was he ever there?
“Miss Ivy,” Jonas pleads. “Can you stand?”
“I think my butt is frozen to the box of lard,” I say, and it strikes me as funny. I start to laugh.